


Fatal Fantasy, I'm Drunk With Ecstasy

by oneforyourfire



Series: Suho Birthday Sextravaganza [7]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: Joonmyun admires, fears, loves him—in equal measure. (aka mermaid au)





	Fatal Fantasy, I'm Drunk With Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: mermaid fic, a lot of desperation, a weird suho w/ non-existent self-preservation instincts?????
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [too much, it's you, your love, it's an overdose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUFZ3EuUJFs)

You wouldn’t know watching him move on land—pinwheeling as he ambles through the streets with all of his too-long, too-awkward limbs crashing into each other whenever he turns too fast, gets too distracted by something beautiful or foreign or shiny—just how startlingly, breathtakingly graceful Chanyeol is in the water. 

It startles a sound out of Joonmyun still, the poised, practiced elegance as Chanyeol glides effortlessly through the water, pale skin, iridescent scales glittering in the fading sun. It makes Joonmyun’s breath stutter with surprise still. With want and awe, still. 

Chanyeol is beautiful, captivating, stunning, breathtaking—dangerous. And Joonmyun can see—more when he's in water than when he is on land—how he was made to be admired, made to be loved, made to be feared. 

Joonmyun admires, fears, loves him—in equal measure. 

Joonmyun, he could spend hours just watching him, would if he wasn’t so desperate to kiss and touch him, too. 

In the water, Chanyeol is most at home, like Joonmyun, only not. Because he longs, too, for something more, something new, something he isn’t allowed to have, longs for him, loses himself also in this forbidden thing. 

And his fingers are soft, wet, tender as they thread through Joonmyun’s hair, softer, wetter, even more tender as they drag down his shoulders, his sides.

Joonmyun stumbles over the edge of his boat into his arms. And oh, he could drown in his eyes or his mouth or in the promise of forever in the exploratory tingle of his fingertips down Joonmyun’s trembling, sensitive, fragile, fragile skin, could drown in the husky invitation of his voice, the sweet, sweet taste of _mine_ in his mouth, too. Could drown in him, burn for him, bleed for him, be lost in the romance of utter oblivion, desolation, annihilation—all for him. 

And that’s precisely why this is wrong. 

In the water, Joonmyun is vulnerable, Chanyeol powerful, sure, his large fingers fanning across the soaked fabric clinging to Joonmyun’s skin, his grip steadying and debilitating in equal measure. And it always feels like the first time, like the last time, like the only time they’ll be able to do this, anytime that Chanyeol touches him, kisses him, _loves_ him—back. 

Weightless, helpless, Joonmyun clutches, winds as tight as he can as he shivers heavily, moans into his plush, warm, wet, trembling mouth, lets Chanyeol be his gravity. Chanyeol, who is something to be feared with his large eyes and soft lips and deep voice and unsettling, irresistible beauty, something to be admired and desired and loved, too. Something to be touched and kissed and held, to be touched by and kissed by and held by, too.

Joonmyun does, gorges himself while he can. Stealing these moments, these touches, these kisses, this love while they can.

Because Joonmyun, selfish and lovestruck as he is, he could never ask Chanyeol to give it all up for him, abandon his home, his life, the _sea_ , stumble awkwardly through life on two legs that are not quite strong enough to support his looming frame, in a world that doesn’t understand him.

And Chanyeol, kind and lovestruck as he is, could never pull him under and claim him as he should, eat him as he should, do with his prey as he should. 

So they meet only ever like this, these stolen, awful instances of intimacy and need.

The sun casts the water golden, and Joonmyun seeks him out, indulging while he is still allowed. 

“Chanyeol,” he breathes, and Chanyeol cradles him even closer, parting his lips, exhaling a reverent moan into his mouth, _trembling_ with want. Joonmyun claws, clings, his greedy fingers stumbling over Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, the sharp juts of his arched spine as he drowns in the heady taste of Chanyeol’s mouth. 

Chanyeol’s body is solid, strong, long, looming, beautiful, _dangerous_ , _dangerous_ , _dangerous_ , built for predation, for eating lovestruck, stupid boys like Joonmyun. 

And Joonmyun, he’d let him. Joonmyun, he’d do anything for him. Joonmyun’s entire body feels bruised with longing for more, more, more. 

Devour me. Claim me. Ruin me. 

This is why the elders warn of wandering towards the water alone, why they offer sacrifices to appease the gods, why Joonmyun had known from the moment he’d first time he’d seen Chanyeol—radiant and stunning and dangerous—in the water, the first time he’d taken his hand in his, that he’d been doomed.  
Because the ocean—its creatures—are cruel, selfish, violent, beautiful, enchanting, irresistible.

And Joonmyun is already so helplessly entangled, so helplessly enraptured, so helplessly enamored. He never stood a chance, doesn’t ever want to escape, doesn’t ever want to give this up. 

He feels it in his bones, thrumming through his veins, coursing through his limbs, the desire, the need to press closer, closer, greedy and possesive and captivated as he gropes over Chanyeol’s sides, his hips, where human skin meets something different, smoother, darker, more beautiful, more dangerous. 

_He could kill me_ , he thinks deliriously, biting hard on the plush swell of Chanyeol’s lip, dragging his fingernails over the flare of Chanyeol’s tail then lower. _But he doesn’t. That’s what makes this love_. 

Chanyeol’s fingers skate restlessly over Joonmyun’s hips, fumbling with the ties in Joonmyun’s pants, struggling to free him, supporting him all the while. Joonmyun fumbles to the do the same, too, fingers curved, exploratory, trembling with want as he eases him out of his sheath, cupping, groaning, and Chanyeol punches into the touch clumsy, sudden. His hiss blows hot against Joonmyun’s temple, and his fingers tighten, his stroke stuttery and sloppy and fast. 

Joonmyun forehead crashes against his sternum with a moan, a series of mindless sloppy kisses, sharp bites, broken pants as Chanyeol finds his rhythm again, Joonmyun struggles to find his own. 

His fingers curl, cradle, memorize, like it’s the first time, the last time, the only time. 

Chanyeol’s cock is much bigger than his, heavy in his palm, smooth and long, pulsing, jerking hard with every scrape of Joonmyun’s teeth on his jawline, every insistent grind of Joonmyun’s own cock against his fingers. 

Joonmyun steals what he can, while he can, drags his mouth over the contours of Chanyeol’s throat, tastes his moan, his need, his despairing love, too, as he touches him like he’s been aching to, is touched likes he’s been aching to. 

And the desire, the need, it’s burning, boiling, whirling in the swelling water between them. Their kisses, touches become more frenzied, more possesive, more greedy, more violent for it. Joonmyun's teeth skimming Chanyeol's throat, Chanyeol's nails on his skin, the friction fierce enough to have the water splashing, Joonmyun's legs, arms, cock quivering. 

Chanyeol’s moans echo in his ears, low and hot and breathless, and even with their bodies pressed as close as possible, Joonmyun, he still needs more, needs to be closer yet. 

“ _Chanyeol_.”

Chanyeol’s hand bumbles then curls around them both. His stroke is trembling, his erection _throbbing_ against Joonmyun’s, throat bobbing with the richest, lowest, roughest moan, and his other hand wanders down the swell of Joonmyun’s ass, grip tight, steadying, debilitating as he pants and pants and pants, pulses, pulses, pulses. 

Drunk on desire, in moments like these, Joonmyun is plagued with wild, illogcal thoughts about taking him, being taken, not just his fingers, but his mouth, his body, having Chanyeol’s body, too, thinks of being greedier, even more selfish, taking as much as he can bear and then even more. 

Orgasm now, after Chanyeol, always tastes like swallowed mouthfuls of briny water, always sounds like crashing waves, always feels like water-puckered fingers dancing over his shoulders, waist, ass, erection, his own fingers—puckered and clumsy and wet and shaking—sliding needily over impossibly smooth skin, exploratory and imploring and bumbling and wanting as they fist around Chanyeol's cock.

He’s drowning, drowning, drowning in the swelling waves, weightless, mindless, clutching, clinging, clambering, needing, but it’s Chanyeol, his anchor, his gravity, Chanyeol, who comes first. 

Too lost in it, his claws and fangs lengthen, sharpen, cut, a stinging reminder of Chanyeol’s terrifyingly alluring, sharp, dangerous, awful, awful beauty, and Joonmyun bleeds for his love—even if only minutely. His skin dimpling then breaking as Chanyeol whimpers and trembles through his climax, apologizes in a rush when he sees the damage.

But Joonmyun likes the sting, the hurt, the mark, wishes he could do that too, mark him, too, leave some lasting impression, too, hurt him, too, but when orgasm seizes him—sharp and sudden and breathtaking—and he bites and claws, too, his nails and teeth are blunt. Painfully human. 

_Killer_ , he thinks. _Seducer, liar, predator, dangerous, dangouers, dangerous—love me, love me, love me. Hold me, hold me, hold me. Never, ever leave me._

Chanyeol strokes him through it, speaking in a breathless, affectionate rush of _perfect, perfect, perfect_ as Joonmyun’s entire body thrashes. He supports him through the comedown, too, cradling him closer, squeezing tight, tight, tight enough for it to hurt, for it to sooth, before raising him, shivering and soaked and vulnerable and _not ready yet_ , onto his boat once more. 

Weak with satiation, with longing, Joonmyun sways, collapses, clambers out for him immediately after, greedy still for another stolen moment, another piece of this stolen love, aching for it to last longer, longer, longer. His clothes are soaked, and he shivers, bumbles forward, coaxes him into just one more kiss. He can tastes the lingering sadness, staggering love in it, shivers again, maybe moans, maybe sobs, maybe pleads.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Keep me. Hold me. Devour me. 

Chanyeol dips beneath the water once more, returns laden with fish. 

Joonmyun before he’d known, used to count this as a blessing from the gods, the fishes Chanyeol had secretly piled on his boat when his sole intent had been wooing him, spoiling the pretty bright-eyed human boy he had fallen for. Now they’re something else, something bittersweet, a gift that comes with parting, a reminder of a love he isn't allowed to keep. 

Another lingering, desperate kiss, a heartrending squeeze of his trembling fingers, and Chanyeol is gone. A shimmer of iridescent scales, a resounding splash of water, graceful, beautiful, captivating, to be feared, admired, loved as he leaves him again

**Author's Note:**

> 7/11
> 
> "fish"
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>  
> 
> ~~this was so goddamn hard to write, oh my gooooooooooooooooooooooood~~


End file.
